The News Came

The news came,
At our doorstep,
And Mom tells me to get the paper.

So I get it, and slap the inky, page-roughened
Slab of print and pictures
On the table,
Just like usual,
And then I lean over Mom’s shoulder (much to her annoyance)
To see the headlines.

The PM’s talking again,
Political jabber, you know,
New policies,
New warplanes,
New sex scandals that he denies.

And there’s prime news,
And you see crying kid in the middle of no-where,
No mom to bring newspapers to,
And the Terrorist, yelling threats and wild prophecies,
But we turn the page quickly,
And the tornadoes (or whirlwinds) and hurricanes (or typhoons),
And we sit shivering in our chairs, discussing which name spells disaster better.

Oh, and did I forget to say that that murderer’s on the loose again?

Then we all get scared,
Talking, sympathetic nods and sighs,
Silent for the moment –the day hasn’t gotten that busy yet.

Weeks pass, and it’s all over.
New things come, more headlines,
More scandals, more jabber.

And last weeks disaster?

Forgotten.